Impossible Objects of Desire, Just Out of Reach

Music: Red Hot Chili Peppers: By the Way As the Memorial Day weekend approaches, by mind fragments: there is a stack of papers to grade; an essay to be drafted; another essay to be revised; and a home to pack. Last night had a few drinkies at the Red Star with my pop music class and the usual suspects.

I've also been thinking a lot about love.

AGAINST THE REPRESSIVE HYPOTHESIS

My colleague, friend, and teacher Chris Lundberg has been encouraging me to read Seminar XX: Encore, which Lacan gave in the early seventies. The discourse there is about feminine sexuality (sexuation or how you and I come to be differentiated in respect to certain biological characteristics) and love, among other things. Admittedly, I rarely read Lacan without some kind of companion, and yesterday, I was reading it up against SIC 1, a volume Zizek's clique put together on the concept of the voice and gaze as love objects (the dreaded objet petit a). The opening essay on the voice as a love object by Mladen Dolar is fantastic (and funds my current writing on music with Tracy Shaffer), but it's Renata Salecl's essay, "I Can't Love You Unless I Give You Up" that really has a nice pay off: previous to reading its analysis of The Age of Innocence, I never quite understood what Lacan meant by the ethical act.

If Lacan's definition of love is that "the subject gives to the other what he or she does not have," and if this object is, of course, the objet a, that impossible, absent cause that sets the whole romance machine in motion, then romantic love is fundamentally a shell game. Salecl shows how, in The Age of Innocence, Newland's love for Ellen is understood as something that is pent up and repressed by Victorian propriety. It is the anticipation of unleashing this desire-something that I tend to refer to as the apocalyptic, the moment before orgasm in one sense-that drives Newland to fantasize continuously. Ellen knows better, and throughout keeps telling Newland what Bryan Ferry told us in the early eighties: "(There's nothing) more than this." In other words, the Love is in the ritual of thinking there is more love behind the ritual to be released. The point is that the love is in the ritual itself; there is no pent up love behind the speech of freedom and escape. There is, as it were, no cum shot in Romance. It's waiting for that which will never arrive.

SORRY MARY JO, BUT, MY TONSIL HAS NOT GROWN BACK

Went to the goodly doctor on Wednesday to follow-up on my psychic's diagnosis, that one of my tonsils has grown back. After my doctor laughed for some time when I told here why I had come for a check-up, she peered into my mouth with a large wooden tongue depressor. "Ummm," she said mockingly. "Ahh," she teased. She then delivered the news: everything is perfectly symmetrical and she did not see any tonsils.

CONDOLICIOUS

I've been working with a real estate agent and a mortgage loan officer, trying to square away the details for purchasing a home in Austin. I would prefer, of course, a small bungalow a short distance to the university. Unfortunately, the Austin market is so ridiculously overpriced that I cannot afford any such thing. Homes in so called up-and-coming but "sketchy" neighborhoods to the east start at $150,000 and go up (anything that I liked was over $200,000). Recently I consolidated some debt at a lower interested rate with a loan from my bank, which apparently too negatively affected my ratios. To qualify for something livable, I may have to dip into retirement.

Not happy news.

I think Austin is a dangerous market and I'm getting quite nervous about purchasing a home there. Almost everyone has told me it is foolish to rent. The rent for a place comparable to what I have now (two bedrooms, approximately 1000 square feet) is over a thousand a month, which is more than a mortgage payment. So it simply makes much more sense to buy, build equity, get the tax write-off, and then sell in a few years when I have paid down some debt. That's my plan, any way.

So I've been looking at online MLS listings. My goodness, this market moves quickly. I would prefer a town home to an apartment condo because I'm such a noisy neighbor with my music, which is on continuously. Because the prediction is that the real estate bubble is about to pop in Austin, I have been focusing only on trendy and hot areas in the city, which is "south" near the South Congress area and East, near the old airport. Most of the places that I can afford are pretty depressing to look at, so I get discouraged every now and again.

A few days ago, however, I found a listing for a place that would be perfect for all my crap and me. It's in the south area, and apparently has been remodeled by an architect owner. Whatever. It has a lovely arrangement, with a living room that opens to a dining area, a fireplace, and a window into the kitchen (why all these condos in Austin have fireplaces is simply baffling). The dining area opens to an outside patio and a backyard. Aside from the décor (which is my style), the backyard is what really gets me excited; one of the things that depressed me most about thinking about buying a condo was not having a yard, however small, in which to plant things. So this condo hit the number one coveted spot on my imaginary list. It also has a loft, which would be perfect for the DJ rig and the home office. Kitchen looks nice, but is a bit too tiny. Bedroom has a balcony that overlooks another side of the complex. This condo debuted at $129,000, something I probably could never qualify for (though I am assured there are tricks for first time home buyers), but last night they bumped the price to $139,000. That's right. In Austin, a condo with 1,100 square feet with a backyard costs more than a home in most other places. Well, we shall see. I head to Austin in a little over a week to home hunt.

OPERATION DESERT FUCK-UP

I keep getting emails from "Ramona" that details "Jim's" adventures in Iraq. I don't know these people, but I'm afraid to tell Ramona I'm not the Gunn she is looking for. Apparently Jim is a medic. Jim's letters are pretty boring, for the most part, but you can tell he is ready to get out of there. Here's a snippet of the kinds of things Jim writes about:

April 1st we hit 104?. It was a red flag day by 10:00 and black flag by 12:30. Since then it has been much milder with temps in the high 80s to mid 90s. Hit 100 again yesterday (13 APR).

There has been an increase in the 671 grain diplomacy (don't mess with us or we'll shoot), which tends to increase the business.

We've been able to get a few holes of golf in at our make-shift course. It certainly helps break up the monotony of the day.

Joe's garden is coming in nicely. He spends a good part of his down time working on the terracing and irrigation system.

I had a big birthday celebration. The surf and turf was again the highlight. I was looking forward to a root beer float, but unfortunately, they ran out of vanilla ice cream. I received all of the birthday packages the items were greatly appreciated. Movie night, yesterday, consisted of The Incredibles and ZAPP's potato chips. The fig cookies have also been a big hit.

There's a lot to be said for the monotony of Jim's letters, but I'll let that go for now. I need to prepare for class today, which introduces the eager undergrads to queer theory and the politics of drag. We'll be watching Velvet Goldmine or Hedwig and the Angry Inch, I haven't decided, as well as a music video from the immortal hair band, Poison. One of my favorite lectures of the class.